


Mi Primer Amor

by shadowrogue



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: City Elf (Dragon Age) Origin, F/M, Flirting, Gift Giving, Kiss Kiss Fall in Love, Rogue Warden (Dragon Age), Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28187310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowrogue/pseuds/shadowrogue
Summary: Tabris and Zevran are both secret romantics. Neither one of them wants to admit it.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Mi Primer Amor

_"Dammit!"_

Zevran strolled up beside Anja with a snicker, watching her failed attempt to sink a dagger into a nearby tree. It bounced off the trunk sideways and fell unceremoniously to the dirt below.

"Struggling, my dear warden?" he prodded, watching her scowl as she begrudgingly went to retrieve the knife.

She paid him no mind as she lined back up for a second shot. "Not at all. This is going _great_. Can't you tell?"

The weapon once more chipped at the bark, hitting the forest floor, this time denting the edge of the fragile alloy. Zevran winced on its behalf.

"Would you care for me to show you how it's done?" he offered, reaching for the hilt of either dagger strapped to his thigh. He pulled them out with a little more flair than necessary, flipping them through his fingers. She gave him a reluctant go-ahead gesture and he grinned, rolling his shoulders as they zipped through the air from his outstretched hands, tips embedding themselves deep in the wood.

"Show off..." Anja examined the spacing of the two knives, stacked vertically into their target. "Heart and head?"

Zevran smirked mischievously, sliding a third dagger out from his sleeve and tossing it with expert aim. It stuck with a _thud_ , well below the other two. "Or lower - if you wish to add insult to injury. Which I often do."

She nearly laughed. He saw the corner of her mouth turn up. That was progress, to be sure. For the longest time she wouldn't even speak to him. Yet slowly over the last few months they'd become...what? Friends, in an odd sort of way? He wasn't even sure how that'd happened.

They'd simply gravitated towards one another. First in small, insignificant moments; gathering firewood out in the forest, sharing a pot of polish, sorting their looted treasures side by side each evening. Over time, the last had transformed into something of a game they both played, purposefully nudging small trinkets one way or the other. He liked shiny things, ever the Crow, and she admired intricacy. Just the other night she'd silently slipped him a small silver bar, flawless and glistening, and he in return had tossed a Dalish scarf into her lap, hand-dyed and embroidered with a thousand tiny stitches.

More recently they'd begun sparring each sunrise, one duel-handed swordsman to another. It was an activity that required quite a bit of trust from a partner, especially considering the fact that they'd once tried to kill each other. He was professionally trained, smooth and highly flexible, whereas she was street smart, fast and rough. Ah yes, this was a woman who wasn't afraid to fight dirty. Let her close enough and she would bite flesh hard enough to draw blood, snarling like an animal as she did so.

Which he found terribly arousing for some strange, inexplicable reason.

She yanked one of his daggers out of the tree and returned to his side, balancing the blade so it teetered on a single finger. "Alright, assassin. Spill your secrets. Teach me how to throw this blasted thing."

"With pleasure."

He reached for the dagger, taking her hand in his, which tensed at the sudden contact. His eyes flickered up to her face, watching as she quickly averted her gaze. Was that a blush upon her cheeks?

"For starters, you're throwing your poor knives as if they are rocks. Think of them more as an extension of your arm. Follow the movement all the way through."

He ran the flat edge of the blade down her leather wrist guard as he spoke, then flipped it over and placed it in her palm. She immediately clutched it in a vice-like grip, as though it were a sword.

"No, _preciosa_..." He used his own fingers to loosen hers apart. "Like this. Find the center of gravity. There. Perfect. Just like that. Now, try again."

He leaned back as she twisted towards the tree and released the knife in a near-perfect arch. It barely stuck, slightly off-center, but held true. She turned to him with a wide grin, eyes sparkling.

"I did it!"

He couldn't help but feel a pleasant sense of pride blossom inside of him. He smiled genuinely.

"I knew you could. You're a natural."

His eyes lingered on hers, and once more she shied away awkwardly, folding her arms across her chest. She stared off into the brush as she regained her composure, then turned back to him with a challenge blazing in her clever eyes. She pointed towards a dead tree, tangled in the vines behind the large oak they'd been practicing on. It was a skinny thing, little thicker than the stakes which held their tents together.

"Think I could hit that one?" she asked, more confidence in her voice than before.

He didn't want to dampen her success. "Eh...perhaps more practice on an easier target first."

Her expression turned sour. "I thought I was a _natural_. Or were you simply lying to flatter me?"

He arched one eyebrow. "Oh? Now you _wish_ to be flattered? And here I had almost given up flirting with you, considering your heart is an accursed block of ice."

She scoffed. "I am _not_ cold-hearted. Perhaps you're simply not as charming as you've led yourself to believe."

He took a step towards her, watching her stiffen. Stubbornly, she refused to take a step back.

"Aren't I though?" he challenged quietly, tipping her chin up with a single finger.

She sucked in a breath, as if nervous and flustered, then shoved him playfully, actual laughter escaping her lips, loud and breathless. There were tears of amusement dampening her eyes.

"Maker, I can't for the life of me take you seriously! Does that sort of thing _actually_ work on women?"

He shrugged. "Women, men, the occasional sentient, decorative shrubbery…but that's a story for a different day, best told over a glass of wine."

Anja rolled her eyes, bending down to slowly pull the small, hidden blade out from the brace on his lower leg. Her fingers purposefully brushed his thigh as she stood, the point of the knife trailing them. His body reacted visibly, much to his embarrassment.

Damned minx.

"Hmm. Care to make a wager, Zev?"

"Your terms?"

She pointed the dagger towards the small, slanted tree. "If I _can_ hit it, I get to choose a prize."

He grew suspicious, his voice flat. "Out with it. What is it you want, Tabris?"

She didn't hesitate. "Your swords."

He snorted. "Are yours not enchanted? Mine are common steel. What _possible_ use could you have for them?"

"Scared I'll win?" she teased.

"Not at all. It took me years to master marks that small."

She held out her hand. "Then we have a deal?"

He went to take it, then hesitated. "Wait...and if you should miss - what then? What is _my_ prize?"

She took his hand in hers, batting her long, dark lashes. "Would a kiss suffice?"

He swallowed hard, imagining what it would feel like to press her flush against any one of these damn trees, her lithe body covered by his own as he buried his face in the curve of her elegant neck, listening to her gasp in wanton pleasure.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't fantasized such a hundred times over. It kept him awake most nights, physically aching, knowing she was so near, yet always out of reach.

"You would offer such?" he asked in a low voice.

They were not shaking hands, he realized. Simply holding them. Did she even realize that? He didn't dare pull away.

"Do you not fancy me?" she questioned, almost sounding offended.

"I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and things that are strong. I fancy things that are exciting and dangerous..." He stared down at their hands and squeezed her fingers. "...would you be offended if I said I fancied you?"

That blush again, creeping up her neck, all the way to the tips of her pointed ears. He was ever so tempted to reach out and touch them, yearning for her to caress his in return.

She smiled. It was almost sweet, small and soft, not at all coy or sarcastic. "Surprisingly...not at all. We have a deal then?"

His hand fell away. "A deal."

She grinned deviously. "Excellent."

His stomach dropped as she turned on a dime, his dagger soaring through the air and striking the dead pine with enough force to pierce straight through it, splintering bits of the bark into a fine dust that lingered heavy in the air. She followed it with two more knives she pulled from her boots, each striking within a hair's width of the other.

"You rotten little liar! You conned me!"

He couldn't tell if he was more impressed by her coercion or outraged that he'd been duped. Bemused, if nothing else. He shook his head, hands on his hips as she turned to him with an innocent shrug.

"I don't know what you mean. I simply had a good teacher - you - as well as a _great_ teacher - my mother." She clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, don't give me that pout." She stretched up on her toes, placing a chaste kiss to his cheek over his tattoos, her hand cradling his face for one blessed, fleeting second as she all but purred in his ear. "I much prefer to see you smile."

She turned away, walking back towards camp, glancing over her shoulder only once with a smug expression as she caught him staring. That simple look was all it took to make him weak in his damned knees. There was an overwhelming impulse to chase after her. To catch her arm and pull her close.

To never let her go.

 _Mierda_ , he was in trouble. This woman would be the death of him. He just knew it.

* * *

Where had Tabris run off to? Zevran sat crossed-legged beside the fire next to Wynne, mixing a vial of poison in an attempt to seem occupied as he scanned the area for the elusive city elf. He hadn't seen her since she'd taken his swords hostage.

"She's out by the treeline, speaking with the dwarves," Wynne said knowingly, a hint of a smile playing on her thin lips.

He played dumb, leaning down to toss a random stick towards the dying embers. "Who? Morrigan?"

Wynne turned to him with a hefty sigh. "You know exactly who it is I'm referring to. Do not deny it, child. I may be old, but I'm not blind - and I'm _certainly_ not stupid. You carry affection for our lady warden, do you not?"

Zevran scoffed, then smirked. "Jealous, old bird? I promise there's plenty of me to go around."

The mage frowned. "Please, Arainai. Be serious a moment. I don't want to see that poor girl hurt. She's had a hard enough life as it is. If her heart is all but a game to you, abandon your antics right this instant. Because the way she looks at you is troubling to me. She's obviously falling in love, and at her age it is perhaps for the very first time."

Falling in love...with _him_?

The very idea was ludicrous. He was nobody of interest, of consequence. Not like Alistair, with his royal blood, or even Leliana, whose voice was capable of bringing grown men to tears. No. He was simply a washed-up killer, a piss lockpick, and a self-proclaimed rake.

She deserved better.

And yet...

Zevan was quiet for a time, letting his guard down as he set his mixers aside. "Wynne, may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

 _How does one know when it's love? What does it feel like? Should it hurt like this, be distracting like this? Drive one positively insane? She is all I desire, every waking hour of every single day. I cannot sleep when she is away, out of worry and fear that something terrible might have happened to her. I know she can hold her own, it is one of the things I admire most about her, yet I still feel the need to step in front of her during battle, to shield her from harm's way and kill anyone who so much as_ dares _to lay a hand on her. She makes me deliriously happy, simply by existing, and all I want is to return that kindess. To be the reason she smiles, she laughs, she sighs. Is that love? Could it be...enough?_

He shook his head, disgusted by how pitifully confused he felt. "Meh. Nothing, nevermind."

"Hm. Very well then. I'll leave you to your watch. Just...think about what I've said. Can you do that?"

He nodded his head, watching the old woman retreat to her tent. He sighed, frustrated as he stood and tossed another log into the makeshift pit, cursing a string of explicits under his breath as he sat back down and ran a hand through his hair. Maker, he felt like pulling it out.

"Well... _someone's_ in a mood. Do you want to talk about it?"

Zevran glanced through his fingers. The warden approached, his swords held in either of her hands.

" _Lo siento_ , Anja. I am just...it's my problem, not yours," he said, deflated.

She took a seat beside him on the fallen tree he was using as a bench, so close that her thigh pressed his.

She offered him his sabers. "Here. Maybe these will cheer you up."

"Ha! Giving them back already? I tried to warn you they were standard-issue shit."

She nudged his arm with the hilt of one. "Not anymore. Go on, take it. Before I decide to beat you over the head with them."

He smiled at her tone, making a sound of mock annoyance as he reached for the sword. Something about the weight of it seemed different...but not in the worst of ways?

Then it burst into flames.

He startled, nearly dropping it in a panic, then realized it was merely the blade which danced with the twist of an arcane flame, one that licked and danced all along the length of it, a sight most deadly and bewitching. Silently, he reached for his other sword. It did the same, lighting up as he took it in his grip.

He glanced past them at Anja's downcast face. She looked anxious for the very first time since he'd met her, as if she were waiting on him to say something.

But for once _he_ was speechless. He studied the base of either weapon, at the ancient markers that had been welded into the handles.

"I found them in the Brecilian ruins," she said quietly, fiddling with her fingers, "I thought you would appreciate them. You know, since you enjoy 'adding insult to injury'. That and...well, it suits you. Fire, that is. You're explosive, hot-tempered, violent..."

"Are these insults or compliments, _cariño_?"

She turned to him, her leg sliding along his. He loosened his grip on the swords, watching their fire die out in response. He placed them on the ground as she reached for his hand.

"You are also _warm_ , Zevran. Adventurous. Passionate. With you…by your side, I...I'm not even sure what to call this feeling. It confuses me. It frightens me. But I also cherish it, more and more with each passing day, and wish very much to explore whatever this is between us."

His heart hammered in his chest as he dared to place a hand on her waist. She was wearing nothing, save for her tunic and the scarf he'd given her, no armor to disguise the feel or shape of her as she leaned into his touch. His throat went dry, the words he wanted to say in the common tongue escaping him.

He brushed her hair aside and gazed deeply into her eyes, which seemed to glow in the dark, large enough to drown in.

_"Desde que te conocí no hago nada más que pensar en ti. Me vuelves loco, mi amor."_

My love. _.._? Yes, it felt only right to call her such. Natural, even. She was so close. Sinfully so. He could smell the scent of her skin, so uniquely her.

"What does that mean?" she whispered.

He smiled softly. "I simply...asked if I could kiss you."

Her arms wrapped around his neck in an instant, pulling him down to her. She kissed him gently at first, tentatively, then harder as he responded in turn, as if she too had been starving for a taste of him. They were two colliding stars, burning hot and bright as her fingers twisted into his hair, her leg swinging over his hip. She straddled him in one smooth motion, sighing blissfully.

"About damn time," she whispered against his lips as he stood and carried her off, far away from prying eyes, where they could be alone...

...together.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/Comments appreciated!


End file.
